The Wrong Time
by KuribohIshtar
Summary: Marik regrets  thiefshipping


If anytime of Marik's life was worse than any other, it was most definitely the time when it was him screwing up what he wanted the most. It can be argued that what he wanted was no more than revenge, for the things done onto /him/; that determined look and those violent violet eyes made the blond seem completely wound up in a purpose, as purpose which required him to team up with another of equal purpose.

Bakura's reason was far less commercial than that; no, the male wanted revenge over the lives of others. He set his life on that cause, living in the golden heirloom for millennia for revenge.

It wouldn't be surprising that Bakura had more things right than he did wrong, though things still turned out that way.

Moving on seems to be something that can ruin the most of one's life. Priorities, not realising what holds more importance over the other. When Marik lived seeing from only one perspective, the lack of bird's-eye-view set him further apart from an ideal life than he knew at the time, and it was the only time Marik truly hated himself.

Tan fingers glided along the smudged windows of a city bus which Marik found himself at, losing all track of time as the bus sped along the streets and the blond sat there quiet for once, eyes traveling just before his fingers at the moon's vivid reflection over the trails of rain which his fingers were following. His mind was in attempt to be absent though he couldn't help his absent-minded thoughts from being washed over by the deadening serious matter which he felt was left without explanation.

It was three months after battle city; there was a break between that and the fiasco which all occurred in Egypt. Marik's partnership seemed dissolved with Bakura, seeing at he hadn't realised the man's still existence in the ring at that point, not that the Egyptian was into working for that purpose anymore.

He was still in Domino though, feeling he was still needed and here for something, and the lack of Bakura's presence bothered him some; enough that he was tempted to befriend Ryou at that very moment.

His stop came after a good twenty three minutes, and he hurriedly left, completely eager to get home with the chill-you-to-the-bone rain and the deadening fear that he would have to speak to someone at the time was a factor in that. He just wanted to be home, or that hotel he and Ishizu were staying at.

"Shut up and don't tell me what to do!" Bakura's voice rang angrily as he frustratedly was dueling for /Marik/ against his other half. Marik was sure as hell not going to just sit there and watch, especially when this was for him though and he kept prying, though there was something in Bakura's voice every time he spoke to Marik then, which he could tell was more than just frustration and the need to do things without the blond's help.

"I know what I'm doing; /shut/ /up/!" That second time confirmed his suspicions. Bakura was really just some angsty, hurt, man underneath his cloth of purpose and the night before then proved it. Marik knew more of Bakura's desire than anyone else, but he chose not to think on that. Not to think on what the man supposedly wanted out of Marik, but to keep it /business/.

That night before, before his other half took over, when they were both in that blimp, Bakura had visited Marik's room, and the statement that things were spilt between the both of them would be a lie. Marik kept quiet, sorting through his deck, prepared for what was going to come tomorrow most definitely and definitely spending time away from Bakura; he'd had enough of his attitude and merely wanted to not be phased by the brilliancy of the man who he had the chance to work with.

A yelp actually escaped his lips at that point though, as Bakura managed to not only sneak into his room but grab him quick and fast by the waist. His cool breath finding it's way through the blond tresses which fell over Marik's neck.

Bakura's grip was strong and the thing that scared him the most was not being able to see the man's face. Was this an assassination? Not that he saw himself as that high up at all...

"Marik; We have business to deal with," He spoke. Instead of the angry voice though, it sounded eager.

Marik didn't move other than shift his position a little, surprisingly a bit frightened to fight against him, but nonetheless grabbed a hold of the rod in his pocket in case Bakura tried to steal it and tried to make him vulnerable.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked, grip tightening. Though he wasn't completely hating this. He felt comfortable, even under the pretense that Bakura was about to steal the rod and kill him. There was a like for the man; his determination, his attitude and his ability to make a dork like Ryou look /good/. Though business was first, he would tell himself and business was not admitting you were gay and fantasized about the one who would most likely kill you in an instant. But he remained calm.

"Oh, you don't like that? Well figures, I know you're not /all/ about business," Bakura's arms gripped the boy tighter before he tossed him gently against the wall, crossing his arms back to their predictable form. Marik caught himself, turning around, with one arm still kept on the rod for defence and one on the wall behind him, locking his eyes with the determination in Bakura's eyes. Though it was a different type of determination; one that made Marik's heart leap a bit, before remembering what he was supposed to be about. Bakura knew more than anything this boy was in denial over his homosexuality and he was for certain going to drive it out of him with eyes, and if not that, then his /body/. Remembering his intent, Bakura let his hands drop to the side, allowing one to rest on his side, as he loosened up a lot, leading Marik confused yet now hopeful over his intent.

'E...explain," He spoke trying to match the determined voice that came off from Bakura, before folding his arms, rod in hand. Bakura's reaction was enough to make him know for certain. He, knew, that Bakura liked something about him, other than the rod; he would have stolen it ages ago if that were the case, and Bakura just stood there still, eyes boring into Marik's in one that asked for forgiveness. Or something similar.

"Marik; I'm in this for more than that stupid rod;" and then it came spilling out, a ramble unexpected by someone so uptight as the man before Marik, and through his entire s speech Marik had to remember just how much he /wanted/ Bakura because his mind was strictly on blocking him out. He may have been in denial, and he knew this, but real life could start later, and he only had one drive, one drive that nothing, not even the most powerful of desires could shake him from.

Bakura spoke of his past briefly, only mentioning that he'd lost people before and the reason he wanted all the millennium items, the explanation of his coldness that it was zorc who powered /ever/ thing evil he did, when his real desire was to put things to rest, to move on. He hadn't expected to want to move on with Marik, but he caught Bakura's attention, and then he went on a long list over all the things Marik was, and that letting go of things brought upon so much more.

Without waiting for a response beyond Marik's still stare, Bakura took a few unsure steps towards him, but when Marik didn't move, Bakura's hands /shaking/ brought themselves up to Marik's shoulders, gripping him close and planting his lips up to Marik's as he'd done many times before. Though it was assumed Bakura only did this out of trying to sort out his cravings; now that he was in a human body again, instead of the ring, it was expected. He never meant it, ever other time, or more so that was what Marik's told himself. Bakura's actions previously were never like this but his eyes would be fueled with rage, or even hatred.

This kiss had a different feel to it, one which Marik didn't immediately back away from; the mood in the air was filled with more passion than the previous, and Marik had actually found himself kissing back.

Kissing the man who he gravitated towards in every instance, letting his pulse race nervously as if he was being kissed the first time. Marik was feeling /right/ for the first time. This was /right/, he would tell himself, and it would be confirmed with Bakura's response to try and bring those cool fingers along the tanned midrift so close to him; Telling Marik he was gay wouldn't change things, but showing him was another. With that kiss, they both shared something they /wanted/ instead of something they felt obligated to do. Marik re-reacted thinking before it got to far and letting his own fingers find their way to Bakura's chest, before he moved his head away, in one quick angry jerk, pushing Bakura away.

The thief was weaker than he let himself on, especially seen when he just stumbled back dumbly, anger rising up in him, anger already, that he was rejected, not just the fact that he was rejected but over the fact that Marik /did/ want him. That was evident in the way the blond's eyes would find their way across to Bakura, smirking, and continuing to stare even after Bakura turned away. By the way the kiss was formed, and by the way he seemed to want to be there with Bakura whenever anything was giong down even when what Bakura was doing had nothing to do with their partnership.

"You're /lying/ to yourself Marik," He replied, the last calm thing that came out of the thief's mouth. Marik just scoffed. No. This wasn't lying. This was finding what was important first. He didn't /need/ this, he needed to do what he came here for, and he wanted to pride himself in that. "No. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ARE SO FRIGGIN... This /isn't/ business, I'm not some homosexual sleep around, and I'm not going to talk to you anymore beyond what I first talked to you about; You can have my millennium item and be on your way after the duel tomorrow then, OK?" He knew full well that Bakura wasn't lying when he said he wanted more than just the rod, but he couldn't.

His stance remained cold, violent eyes being exaggerated. The sound of the room was quiet after that; and Bakura's voice had evaporated from the room so that his hurt wasn't noted.

Marik ignored the confused child who stood before him, though he was supposed to be on their side, he tried to pretend he was just tired and didn't want to talk, when he didn't feel the guilt yet. When Ryou left, Marik flipped off the light before retreating to the bed, hating himself because he couldn't cry over this.

He kept telling himself that it wasn't right, but it /was/ and he longed to be back at that point before Bakura hid away; the boy was aware that it hurt Bakura, simply because of his surprisingly... all too /cool/ expression when he shared everything, shared what he could before he let the darkness in him erode and chip away at him for good.

Now Marik realised that they were most definitely right for one another. Though what he didn't realise was that neither of them had pasts which they /really/ wanted to waste their life fighting for; Marik viewed it as first priority and that was the reason they couldn't be with one another.

They were everything that was right at the wrong time; Bakura's and Marik's desire for fighting for revenge (though it was mainly Marik's which kept them), was most definitely not.

About to turn the corner to where he left his motorcycle parked, a laugh was heard, one which may not have shook the night, but which certainly did for Marik. His suspicion that Bakura was still fused into the ring was confirmed, though Marik stayed hidden. That laugh was enough for him to know Bakura wasn't about to just casually mock Marik about his choice of clothes or about his skills as a villain, but then angrily plant a kiss on him before leaving.

Bakura had finished doing /something/ violent to two boys who lay in yellow raincoats getting soaking wet. Bakura was there in his black cloak and before long he hear Motou stumble into the alley he was listening in on.

Oh, the way the thief spoke, caused the sound of the rain to be drowned out, and the sound of his thoughts be put on pause. He didn't realise that he'd just been standing there, getting ever little bit of him soaking wet. He didn't need Bakura anymore, and certainly not that one. Unbeknownst to Marik, though suspected by him greatly, Bakura's goal had shifted; it was no longer about just revenge, it was the goal of the malignant Zorc fragment that he was: reviving him completely. The wrong time had changed into eternity and at the moment Marik provoked Bakura to leave that time, he'd given himself over to what he'd become, and time would march on, never Bakura would return to anything human, and he was doomed to fail, doomed to be enveloped in a darkening glow, like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy, where his overwhelming ambition took a hold on him, as it had for Marik.

Marik wasn't completely dense over the situation; just that laugh made him certain that if he wanted to make it out without feeling the incredible guilt wash over him, he ought to leave then, and so headed straight home, shakily his body making it's way back to his motorbike. The grumble his stomach made just then was far worse than hunger. He felt like throwing up, felt like he'd missed out on something; his body would be breaking up even more than that; the blond Egyptian was still under hope that when Bakura finished his revenge, finished what he wanted to get finished, he would come back, and they would be right, at a better time, at the right time. He was going to find a way to fess up to his belief that Bakura was the one for him, that he /cared/, that Bakura was important to him beyond all else.

But before it was his revenge that was first, and /that/ didn't even go right. He wanted to blame it on his ability to become so damned distracted especially that /thief/, that spirit of the ring. Though Marik's heart sunk further when thinking this all through; it wasn't /right/ to spend so much time on his past (because that was what it was all about) but it was right to move on and just let Bakura sway him.

Marik knew immediately when Bakura had been put to rest for certain, and that was the first time he'd allowed his sister to help him out, willingly. He had it all wrong, it could have been perfect but the spirit, the supposed immortal one, left first and he felt less like he'd a /broken/ heart but more that it had left with the spirit, trampled on by that malignancy which Bakura had then willingly let take him over.

It's bizarre; astounding how he didn't feel the full weight of how much he loved that man until he'd made the mistake, and now instead of supressing overabundant love, the Egyptian felt a millennium's worth of regret loading into the place his heart used to be.


End file.
